


American Hamburgers For The Soul

by cellostiel



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Cooking, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Implied Genji Shimada/Tekhartha Zenyatta, Implied Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Shimada Brothers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 10:10:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9603371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cellostiel/pseuds/cellostiel
Summary: He's seen Genji eat before; it's not like his new body is unable to handle it.Has Hanzo done something wrong? Is this an intentional slight against him?-Hanzo tries to cook for the Overwatch team, but there's one large problem: Genji won't eat anything he cooks.





	

**Author's Note:**

> *takes a break from all the smut to write Hanzo suffering*
> 
> things that fueled the fire while I wrote this: Shelter by Porter Robinson and Madeon, Beings by Madeon, and ["When My Brother Loved Me"](https://youtu.be/DP_X87jd23o) by Adriana Figeuroa.
> 
> EDT: also I realize now I attributed swedish dishes to the swiss character;;; I really thought she was swedish while I was writing this & it was only when starting my pharamercy piece that I realized otherwise. I'm sorry please forgive me and ignore;;

Hanzo decides to cook for the team. It's been a long time since he's even considered cooking for someone else (phantom urges to make a meal for two aside). He finds he rather likes the sensation. 

He makes hot pot. Several hot pots, actually, considering the size of their operation now. Three variations are kept warm on the table: beef, pork, and chicken, going for variety. 

Everyone flocks to the dining hall eagerly, chattering about the smell of the simmering food. Genji claps a hand on his brother's shoulder, says, "Smells like home." Hanzo pretends there isn't a lump in his throat as he goes to set the table. Lucio and Lena zip past him, snagging the plates and taking over the task.

Hanzo takes his own time settling into his seat, and when he looks up, everyone is seated, looking at him expectantly. He realizes belatedly that they're waiting for his cue to start. 

"Um. Go ahead." he says. Genji lets out a small laugh, picking up Hanzo's bowl and holding it out to him.

"You made the meal, brother. You get the first bowl."

Hanzo takes the bowl carefully, glancing around the table. He gets encouraging smiles and even a thumb's up from Lena. He serves himself, and no sooner has his bowl hit the table than the others are descending on the meal with a vigor. 

Hanzo can't help the tiny smile that graces his face at the scene. It drops, however, when he glances at Genji. For all his kind words, Genji's bowl sits empty next to his master's. Genji seems oblivious to it, chattering away with the omnic next to him. Something uncomfortable churns in Hanzo's stomach, and it takes considerable effort to finish even a single serving. 

He's seen Genji eat before; it's not like his new body is unable to handle it. He ate Dr. Ziegler's rödkål-stuffed mushrooms and smörgåstårta last month, has been found indulging in Winston's toasted peanut butter and banana sandwiches at midnight, and practically gorged himself when Jesse, Gabriel, and Sombra made Calabaza en Tacha for Dia de Los Muertos. 

Has Hanzo done something wrong? Is this an intentional slight against him? 

Trying to calm himself with rational thought, he cycles through possible explanations. Perhaps his brother ate earlier and is still full, or simply doesn't have a taste for hot pot tonight. There's a reasonable explanation, he's sure, but that doesn't keep the dark part of his mind from creeping in. 

It's alright, he decides. Whatever the problem is, he will fix it. The next day he pens himself in on the schedule to cook again for lunch on the coming friday. His brother won't be able to resist the dish he has in mind. 

McCree creeps around the kitchen as Hanzo cooks, of course, criticizing how he makes the burgers and pouting when Hanzo tells him it's not an american recipe. 

"Is it that hamburger steak you guys have?" McCree asks, scratching at the side of his nose. "Doesn't look like it."

"No, they are american hamburgers. My brother used to be obsessed with them because they were 'foreign.'"

"Oh." Blessedly, McCree shuts up after that, instead asking if there's any way he can help. Hanzo has him grill the vegetables that are to go on the side. 

As Hanzo forms the patties, he can't help but reminisce. Every birthday, Genji would demand american hamburgers for dinner. Their father would always indulge him, despite not particularly liking them himself. Hanzo doesn't mind them, but they were always Genji's thing. 

The burgers go over well, everyone excited about Hanzo's 'special recipe.' In truth, it's just a little ketchup added to the meat, but everyone seems to enjoy them. 

Everyone except, once again, Genji. 

Rage flares up inside of Hanzo, and it takes all of his concentration to push it down. This  _ must _ be intentional. The old Genji could never resist american hamburgers. Yet there he sits, calmly sipping from his tea cup and ignoring the meal Hanzo has put so much care into. He picks the grilled zucchini off of Hana's plate, but that's it. 

While Genji is in the bathroom, Hanzo corners Zenyatta. "Is my brother upset with me?"

Zenyatta tilts his head. "What would make you think that?"

Hanzo glances away, feels absolutely childish when he says, "He will not eat my food." 

"Ah." Zenyatta says. "Of course he won't."

Hanzo balks, hurt building up in his chest, but Zenyatta continues, "Genji can no longer eat meat." That gives Hanzo some pause. 

"He… can't?"

"It is too harsh on his digestive system now: much of it had to be replaced when he was reconstructed."

An image flashes through Hanzo's mind, of his hand plunging an arrow into his brother's gut and  _ twisting _ , and his own stomach turns. 

"It is rather unfortunate that your meals so far have been so meat-oriented." Zenyatta notes. "He can still eat fish and other seafood, and from what I understand, japanese cuisine tends to make quite good use of those." 

Of course. Of course this is Hanzo's fault. But unlike many things, this is something he might be able to fix. There is no going back and undoing his crime, no magically fixing his brother's body, but there is something he can do for his brother, however small. 

"Zenyatta, would you mind inviting my brother to dinner tonight? Just the two of us. I need to go out and purchase ingredients."

There's a smile in Zenyatta's voice as he says, "I would be delighted to. May you find everything you need at the store."

Hanzo nods and makes his leave, catching Lena just as she's about to take the plane out for a spin. On the flight there, she chatters about needing to go to the store too to find a card to send her girlfriend for valentine's since they'll both be working until the weekend after. Hanzo pays half-attention, his focus on his phone as he scrolls through recipes. 

He gives Lena half the list, letting her zip around the store and help while he takes his time with the fresher ingredients, taking care to pick the best from the selection. 

By the time they get home, Zarya has a veritable feast of Russian staples spread out on the table. Hanzo excuses himself and begins the task of cleaning a corner of the kitchen to cook in. Zarya and a few others pop in to clean up the rest of the mess, chattering curiously about what Hanzo is hunkered over in the corner. When asked, Hanzo simply raises a brow and says, "Food." That earns him good-natured grumbles, and he is left to his work. 

Hanzo puts everything he has into his meal, chopping the vegetables with precision and keeping watchful eyes on everything being heated. It's no surprise when Genji pokes his head in just as Hanzo is forming the patties.

"What are you making?" Genji asks hesitantly. Hanzo has hardly ever heard his brother hesitant, Genji being the type to barrel right in without thought, and it grips his heart in a vice. 

"Hamburgers." he answers. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Genji tense.

"Didn't we just have hamburgers for lunch?" Genji laughs awkwardly, slipping into japanese. Hanzo closes his eyes for a moment, letting the pain wash over him and recede on its own. 

"You could not eat those." He packs the patty a little more forcefully than necessary, setting it to the side with the rest. 

Genji is silent for a long few minutes, looking over the ingredient scraps Hanzo has yet to dispose of. Then he stares at Hanzo for a few more minutes. Hanzo's skin crawls. 

Then Genji hops up onto the counter and begins to swing his legs, feet knocking against the cabinet. "Remember when I was grounded for two months?" he asks, apropos of nothing. Hanzo raises a brow. "I was about fifteen and clumsy as all fuck, couldn't sneak out for the life of me."

A smile tugs at Hanzo's mouth, the memory returning to him. "You would not stop complaining."

"I just wanted a damn hamburger." Genji laughs, freer now. "The kitchen wouldn't make me any."

Hanzo nods, his smile spreading. "You begged me for three days straight to make you one." 

"You finally caved on day four. Kept saying that it was only to get me to shut up, but I saw how much care you put into it." His voice is wistful, head tipped back to look at the ceiling. Hanzo remembers that day, remembers Genji, twenty years younger, sitting on the counter like this while Hanzo worked. "You never could say no to me for long, though. Not when we were younger."

"No," Hanzo agrees softly, smile wilting. "I could never say no to you." Except for when it counted most. 

Genji doesn't move his head, but Hanzo can feel eyes on him. "You used to cook for me all the time, too." he says. "Even though we had five-star cooks in the kitchen." 

"You would say you hated it, then come back for seconds and thirds." Hanzo says. "I still don't know how you could eat so  _ much." _

"Hey, one of us had to pass six feet."

Hanzo snorts despite himself. Genji's face is still hidden, but Hanzo knows he's grinning. 

"I have missed this, brother."

Emotion chokes Hanzo's throat. He subtly clears it, says, "I have, as well." He knows better than to think the catch in his voice goes unnoticed, but Genji mercifully turns his gaze back to the ceiling.

Hanzo continues cooking in relative silence, Genji humming some nameless tune as his legs swing. If Hanzo closes his eyes, just for a moment, he's back in their kitchen in Hanamura, eighteen years old and cooking his little brother american hamburgers. 

He nearly burns the burgers for his troubles. 

There is no going back. There is no changing what is done. Even if he could, Hanzo isn't sure how much he would actually change. Maybe he would be less blind, would send his brother off instead, fake his death. He wonders, though, if he had done that, if Genji would still have ended up in Overwatch. Maybe his time here would have been happier, maybe he wouldn't have spent eight years consumed with self-hatred. 

But then, maybe he never would have joined Overwatch. He wouldn't have this makeshift family of his, complicated as it is. He might never have met Zenyatta, or Angela, or McCree, or Hana and Lucio, or any of the others that he holds so dear to his heart.

He and Hanzo might have never seen each other again.

Hanzo clicks off the stove. The burgers are ready. He plates one up on a bun, holds it out to Genji. "Here."

Genji hesitates, then reaches up to press at the releases of his mask. He removes it slowly, but the sight of his face, mangled and scarred with one eye a slightly off brown, is always like a slap to Hanzo. 

Genji takes the plate from him, picking up the burger and eyeing it cautiously. 

"I spoke with Zenyatta." Hanzo tells him. "It should be safe for you to eat."

"I trust you." Genji says, tossing Hanzo a smile before taking a bite. Of course Genji makes a show of chewing it, mulling it over. His face pinches, then relaxes, then pinches again, then he makes a happy hum before pulling a face again.

Hanzo huffs. "Well, out with it. Is it bad?"

Genji swallows, tilts his head at it, asks, "This is supposed to be a hamburger, right?"

Hanzo bristles. "It is supposed to taste like a beef patty without there being any meat in it, yes."

"Well then you've missed the mark by about a mile." Genji chuckles. Hanzo curses himself. What was he thinking? What did he hope to solve with this little exercise?

"I apologize." he says, glaring at the pan. "I can make you something else-"

"It's perfect."

Hanzo looks up at him, confused. "What?"

Genji shrugs, takes another bite, and says around the mouthful, "I mean it's a little weird, I'll admit, but still pretty damn tasty. You have outdone yourself, brother."

Hanzo's inner demons ease somewhat. He nods stiffly.

"Although," Genji starts, and Hanzo stills. "It could use more ketchup." 

Hanzo stares at him incredulously. Genji grins wide, tossing a wink Hanzo's way. 

With a huff, Hanzo crosses to the bottle and throws it at his brother. Genji catches it easily and promptly pops it open to pour all over his burger. Genji and his fucking ketchup.

Hanzo leaves his brother to his disgusting habit of drowning his food in the sauce, turning his attention instead to cleaning up. 

"Are you going to eat?" Genji asks. Hanzo pauses, considers. He glances at Genji, finds something hopeful in his brother's eyes. Hanzo is taken back twenty years again, sitting across from his brother at an otherwise empty dinner table, their father off on some business affair. Back when it was the two of them against the world. Back before Hanzo started acting like he didn't love his brother with everything he has. 

Hanzo takes a plate from the cupboard and serves himself a burger. Genji pats the space beside him, and reluctantly Hanzo joins him on the counter. He feels childish, but finds he doesn't particularly mind.

They eat in silence for a while, content to share the comfort of a warm meal. Hanzo feels more at ease than he has in a long time.

Then Genji says, "So, Jesse, huh?" and Hanzo feels heat creep to his ears.

"Shut up." Hanzo says eloquently. 

In english, Genji sing-songs, "Hanzo and Jesse, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-"

Hanzo grabs Genji's plate and shoves him off the counter. Genji stays there, cackling. 

"I call dibs on being both of your best men at the wedding." he says cheekily, grinning up at Hanzo. 

"There will be no wedding because I am not interested in him." 

"Mhmmm." Genji gives him a doubtful look, gets up to dust himself off. "Though I hear he has only ever tried instant ramen." 

Hanzo curls his lip in disgust. "We will be fixing that immediately." 

Genji laughs lightly, retrieving his plate and hopping back up onto the counter. He tilts his head at his brother, smiles knowingly, and says, "You should cook more often. It is good for you." 

Something settles in Hanzo's chest. The dragons, for once, are restful. "I think so, too, brother."

**Author's Note:**

> for some reason I really like the idea of pescatarian genji? also genji is a little shit, forever and always.


End file.
